Onboard The 7.55 Poem by Not Long Left

This train is not travelling to the place of my death
There are no uniformed men keeping us in order
My view outside is not of blazing buildings nor
Skeletal tanks shadowing shrapnel torn bodies.

Yet fear is found on every face, each movement
Of man draws a frown upon the face. Down the
Ailse a door slams, two figures scanning, features
Hidden beneath a hood. Beside me a hero from
A battle long lost traces the route of his scar.

We the silent spies are planning escape, plotting
Behind newspapers, waiting for the doors to open
Waiting for the air to beckon us. Then we shall
Leave, walking away from one more possiblity.